Insomnia
by Yeahsureyoubetcha
Summary: Some members of SG-1 are having a restless night and go looking for a little distraction. They're hungry, they're bored and they aren't at the SGC . . . what could possibly happen? Tag scene for 'Small Victories'. (Full Team fic - Strong elements of J/D friendship, bit of Jaffa humor and a happy dose of J/S shippery)
1. Nightmares

**Warning! Contains episode plot spoilers for Season 4's 'Small Victories'. Reference is also made to Season 1's 'Solitudes'.**

**Disclaimer:** I would like to take this opportunity to unequivocally state that I do not own _Stargate SG-1_ or any of its characters.

In particular, there is a section of this story that is written in italics. This is a flashback to an actual scene in the episode 'Small Victories'. The dialogue contained therein (minus a small word substitution) is a direct transcript from the show. I take no credit for it, no infringement is intended, no money is to be made, etc.

**Author's Note:** For the purposes of this tag scene I am assuming that when Thor beamed O'Neill, Carter and Teal'c back to Earth at the end of 'Small Victories', he sent them back to the harbor warehouse where Daniel was. I am also assuming that all SGC personnel had to be 'put up' for the night by the local military base so that they could oversee the clean-up and recovery process following the sub's destruction. Hopefully neither of these assumptions are too outlandish. They seemed to make pretty good sense and they also made my muse pretty happy so . . .

Also, **K'MI.974**, this multi-chapter tag is for you. You kindly hinted in a PM that you would like to see another episode tag from me, so when my inspiration decided to strike with this one I thought of you. Then of course I learned that 'Nemesis' / 'Small Victories' was one of your favorites and I just got so excited! I know it's not much, but I hope you'll enjoy it. As for the longer story and possible S/D friendship piece you suggested, I'm still working on those. Nothing definite at the moment, but any day now . . . Thanks again for all of your in put and support!

* * *

**Time frame:** Several hours after the Russian sub has been destroyed

**Place:** Puget Sound Navel Base (Please note: the location where the Replicator invested Russian submarine was being contained was not mentioned during the episode. During the initial briefing, however, Major Davis mentions that the sub was spotted by an aircraft off of the _USS Nimitz_. I did a little research and found that the _Nimitz_ was based at Puget Sound during the time frame of this episode so I went with that.)

**Genre:** Predominately Friendship / Humor / but there is a sizable dose of Hurt/Comfort/Angst in the beginning

* * *

XXXXXXX

_"Prepare to go ahead and blow this thing."_

_Daniel's adrenaline began to rush. "That's not exactly a positive attitude Jack."_

_"Listen to me. We are not gettin' out of here. Mission accomplished. Blow it!"_

_The report of gunshots echoed through Daniel's earpiece and the mechanical creak of approaching Replicators increased. "Jack!"_

_"Daniel please! . . . Before I get eaten alive by these . . . dang bugs! Davis, give the order!"_

_Blips of static made portions of this transmission unintelligible, but the intended message was all too clear. The realization that his friends were not going to survive, caused Daniel's breathing to grow labored, while conversely his heart seemed to stop altogether. Helplessly he watched as they fell to their knees - fighting what he knew was an un-winnable battle. A wave of denial swept through him at the sight and his head shook from side to side, rejecting reality. This could not be happening. Unconsciously, Daniel switched his body to autopilot as everything around him began to blur. A voice muttering the words 'okay, okay', registered dully in his mind and for a second he wondered who had spoken. Had it been him? No, that couldn't be right. Whoever had spoken those simple words was the one responsible for ordering the death of his friends - the one responsible for giving up on them. He would never do that . . . he couldn't. He couldn't._

_"Fire on target."_

_The sentence stung Daniel's heart, yet somehow he felt completely numb. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be._

_"Dallas is firing torpedoes. Eight seconds to impact."_

_In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything ground to a halt and the only thought Daniel could process was 'No'. No, no, no. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be._

_"Blackbird attempting evasive maneuver. Torpedoes still on target. Two seconds."_

_All of a sudden, the world started moving again - much faster than was naturally possible. It plunged ahead, hurtling his friends toward certain, inescapable death. Once more, Daniel's mind screamed in protest. No, no, no. But then, it was all over._

_"Direct hit."_

_The phrase struck Daniel harder than any physical blow. It reverberated over and over through his very soul, growing louder and more painful with each repetition. The sound was deafening, the sensation overwhelming. Then, above it all, he heard his friend's earlier plea resounding again and again . . ._

_"Daniel, please! . . . Daniel, please! . . . Daniel -"_

With a start, Daniel Jackson's eyes flew open. Darkness greeted his wide blue orbs and he struggled to get his bearings. After a few moments, however, the solid black mass that was his surroundings began to melt into distinguishable shapes. A dim, ambient light filtering in around a closed door aided this transformation and soon the various elements fell into place. There was a wall, a corner, a ceiling - all very grey and all very empty. This was Puget Sound Naval Base, temporary guest quarters section.

Thus drawn from his world of dreams, Daniel allowed his tense body to collapse in exhaustion, not to mention exasperation. This was the fourth time tonight he'd been awakened by the same awful nightmare. At least he thought it was the fourth . . . judging by the way he felt right now, though, it could very well have been the tenth. With distaste, the archaeologist noted that his t-shirt was wet with sweat - again - and his breath was coming in heavy gasps. Nightmare induced panic followed by utter disorientation was definitely not one of his favorite combinations. Throwing an arm over his face, he tried to muffle a groan of frustration. Man he hated this.

After laying in this position for an indeterminate amount of time, Daniel heaved another sigh and uncovered his face. Struck by an almost irresistible urge, he then rolled to the edge of the upper bunk he currently occupied. Peering down, he searched the bed below for a glimpse of his only roommate. As the sight of one peacefully sleeping Jack O'Neill appeared, a surge of relief pulsed through him. Despite knowing that the nightmare had been just that - a nightmare - somehow seeing his friend alive and in one piece, still managed to bring Daniel comfort. A weary smile worked onto his lips the longer he stared and after a few moments his head began to sag. Allowing his eyes to drift shut, the archaeologist reluctantly rolled back into his bunk.

More than anything, Daniel wanted to sleep. The emotional roller coaster he'd been riding, both real and imagined, had left him well and truly drained. But while the desire for rest was strong, the dread of waking to a fifth repeat nightmare was stronger. This being the case, Jackson irrationally decided to stay awake for the duration of the night. Of course this decision, in turn, left him to ponder just what exactly he was going to do for the next few hours. There was studying the ceiling of course - that was always fun, in a dull, uninspiring sort of way; and on the off chance he got bored with this activity he could always try scrutinizing the room's four blank walls instead. Staggered by the immensity of these prospects, Daniel filled his cheeks with air and blew out a slow, heavy breath. This was going to be a long night.

Almost an hour later, the diligent archaeologist had succeeded in discovering three cracks, a nail and a spider along the planes available for his perusal. Of these, the meandering arachnid had probably been his most exciting find. He wasn't particularly 'into' spidery things given their recent brush with the Replicators, but the tiny creature's wanderings had proven to be most entertaining - or at least most distracting. When the spider's travels had finally carried it under the door and out of sight, though, Daniel was again left with nothing to do. It was then that his boredom rose to such an acute level that he could no longer resist the pull of sleep . . .

* * *

The echo of Jack calling his name ripped through Daniel's consciousness once more and he sat bolt upright in bed. The nightmare had been even more intense this time and the waves of panic assaulted him with force.

Driven by instinct, Daniel rushed to the edge of his bunk and searched the area below for his friend. When his eyes landed upon their appointed target, however, instead of feeling reassured, he found himself choking on a huge gulp of air. For there, waiting for him, was the most startling and outrageous funny face Daniel had ever had the misfortune to see. Every feature was contorted in a wild fashion with the aid of several fingers and the tongue, which was curled into a 'U', sat protruding from the man's mouth at an odd angle.

"Gah, Jack!" he protested, recoiling from the sight. "Don't do that!"

With a soft chuckle, O'Neill obligingly allowed his face to return to normal. "What was that, Daniel?"

"Ah!" the archaeologist humphed flopping onto his back. "What . . . I mean, just . . . Why?"

Noting the incredulous tone of his friend's voice, the Colonel bit down a laugh. Then, still struggling to contain his amusement, he innocently began to explain. "Well, I've lost track of how many times you've dropped down to stare at me tonight. I just thought I'd give you something interesting to think about."

An exaggerated grunt crossed with a chuckle answered this remark. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Jack returned happily, playing into his friend's sarcasm. "Glad to help." A short silence followed this exchange and when the Colonel finally spoke again, his light tone seemed to have subsided a little. "Trouble sleepin'?"

Caught off guard by this loaded question, Daniel hesitated. "Um . . . yes actually, now that you mention it. You?"

O'Neill scrunched his eyelids and brow into a tight knot. _Ack!_ There it was. He'd impulsively opened this 'can of worms' and now here it was being thrown right back in his lap. Jack felt like smacking himself in the forehead. _Why do I ask these questions? _Mentally berating his lack of impulse control for several more seconds - just for good measure - the Colonel then launched a half-hearted reply. "Nah," he shrugged. "I'm sound asleep."

Identifying this classic O'Neill evasion tactic, Daniel hummed knowingly. "That good, huh?" Stillness answered this observation and the archaeologist exhaled a long-suffering breath. "Try counting sheep."

Jack scowled, his eyes shooting daggers through the upper bunk. "I already did," he muttered grudgingly.

"You did?"

"Oh yeah, it was great," he declared with false enthusiasm. "I counted and counted and _counted_. I couldn't stop. I'd close my eyes and there they were - jumping." Jack bounced his hand up and down by way of illustration and knit his brow. "Hundreds of them. Then I fell asleep and there they were! Daniel, I swear I've never seen so many dang sheep in all my life. They were everywhere!" The soft sound of laughter drifting down from above caused the crease along Jack's forehead to deepen. "Hey, I'm serious!" he whined, jabbing a finger into his friend's mattress for emphasis. "There were thousands of them . . . with metal blocks for wool and joints that creaked."

Daniel, who had found himself grinning at the child-like animation of the Colonel's narrative, suddenly grew serious. His eyebrows drew into a tight wad and he leaned over the edge of his bunk. "They were Replicators?"

O'Neill brandished an inscrutable look. "And you thought the bugs were bad."

Casting his eyes upward, as though trying to visualize this a scenario in his mind, Jackson remained frozen for several seconds. An unmistakable glint of doubt then appeared and he shifted his attention back to the Colonel. "Replicator sheep?"

Jack chewed the inside of his cheek at the brazenly skeptical tone of this question. Obviously the geek knew him much too well. Resisting the urge to smile, however, O'Neill schooled his features and executed a dramatic shudder. "Frightening."

A grin spread across Daniel's face at this assertion and he began to laugh.

Though inwardly pleased that his foolishness could make the troubled archaeologist smile, Jack made a show of protesting. "Daniel!" he complained dragging out the syllables. "I came _this_ close to being trampled by a bunch of fluffy, jumping, metal blocks and all you can do is hang there snickering?" When this elicited even more laughter, O'Neill frowned in consternation. "Some friend you are," he grumbled petulantly.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Daniel managed between gasps, falling back on his cot. "It just struck me funny."

"I'll strike you funny in a minute if you don't stop," the Colonel countered. At this gruff retort, the unrestrained guffaws slowly transitioned into a more controlled strain of giggles and snorts. Still not satisfied, Jack fired one last threat. "Don't make me come up there."

The sleep deprived archaeologist predictably found this comment humorous and began choking on new laughter. Wrapping both arms around himself, Daniel cradled his now aching sides. "Don't make me laugh," he wheezed, ". . . my appendectomy."

Jack winced at the reminder and silently cursed his lack of judgement yet again. His 'mother hen' instinct then kicked in and he toyed with the idea of offering his friend some pain killers or even a trip to the infirmary. Either of these would have been an overreaction, he knew, but Daniel's attack of appendicitis had been serious - more serious than O'Neill cared to remember - and it had left him on edge. Every time he saw the younger man grimace or even heard his breath hitch the Colonel was struck by a twinge of panic. Shaking away these irrational fears, Jack struggled to keep his tone flippant. "Serves you right, ya' mocker."

Still grinning, Daniel eased out a slow, even breath. Painful incision not withstanding, this was the first time in hours - no, make that days - he honestly felt relaxed and at rest.

For almost fifteen minutes, no more words were spoken. The silence was comfortable - Jackson content to simply revel in the peace of the moment and O'Neill content to let him. Eventually, however, the Colonel moved to break the quiet. Sliding one hand along the wall, he sent his fingers in search of the light switch. When they connected with the desired power source, he flipped it upwards.

"Ah!" Daniel objected raising a hand to block the sudden glare. "Jack!"

"Yes, Daniel."

"Wha- . . . what?" stammering, the archaeologist motioned vaguely toward the offending light with his free arm.

"What 'what', Daniel? It's a light."

"I know that, but -"

"I'm hungry," Jack interrupted as though it were perfectly logical.

"And you're blinding me for this because . . .?"

"Because you're hungry, too."

"I am?"

"Of course you are, now c'mon."

"But -"

"No buts. You said you couldn't sleep, right?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, then you must be hungry - only reason in the world for not sleeping." As he spoke, the Colonel hauled himself out of bed and propped both elbows on the upper bunk.

"Jack," Daniel laughed, still shielding his eyes. "We're buried in the middle of a Naval Base, where are we gonna go?"

Prying away the archaeologist's arm in an effort to force some kind of visual contact, O'Neill then waggled his eyebrows mischievously. "The commissary."

Jackson squinted at his friend, threw his eyes off to one side deep in thought and pursed his lips. The intelligent, albeit sleepy blue orbs, then rolled back to the Colonel. "It's closed."

"And? Your point is?"

"Jack -"

"Daniel, haven't you ever heard that where there is a commissary there is a kitchen?"

"No," Jackson replied drawing out the word. "But I've had my suspicions."

"Well now see - there you go."

"But Jack -"

"Daniel!"

"They're closed!"

"Ah!" Throwing both hands up with an air of finality, Jack brought a temporary end to his friend's protests. "Fer cryin' out loud, I'm not talking about robbing a bank here - it's just the ice box. Besides, the Base Commander said, and I quote, 'my base is your base - make yourselves at home'," O'Neill mimicked, his head bobbing with impatience.

"Jack, I don't think -"

"Ack! You. Out of bed. Now," he commanded pulling away Daniel's covers. This act immediately revealed the man's wet t-shirt and Jack couldn't help but flinch. Traumatic nightmares came in many different forms, but their symptoms were almost always the same. The one that had caused this must have been quite something.

Daniel sensed the Colonel's train of thought almost instantly and was stung by a rush of embarrassment. Jack had seen him after nightmares before, of course, but somehow he still felt humiliated. Suddenly the urge to turn away or to go crawl into an invisible hole somewhere seemed very appealing. But the dark brown eyes of his friend held him solidly in place, demanding his attention. Unable to escape, Daniel at last lifted his face to return the steady gaze.

As their eyes connected, the two men began to communicate. Without speaking, Jack offered words of understanding and support. In return, Daniel conveyed words of gratitude along with an unneeded apology.

As their 'conversation' progressed, the Colonel raised an eyebrow. Was Daniel alright? Did he need to talk? Granted, talking wasn't one of Jack's strong points, but for his friend he could try.

Daniel read this invitation and smiled. He knew what a sacrifice even suggesting 'that sort of thing' was for O'Neill. The man was famous for his 'bark like a chicken, cluck like a dog' opinion of all things psychological. The fact that he had even given Jackson an opening like this was both astounding and moving. Shaking his head, however, the archaeologist graciously declined. "It's okay, Jack."

Accepting this as the mildly untruthful answer it was, O'Neill simply nodded. Daniel was far from 'okay', that was apparent, but talking wasn't the only solution - there were other ways he could help his friend. With this in mind, Jack summoned a light gibe to clear the air. "Yes, well . . . See that you change that shirt. I don't want to be seen wandering the halls with a damp archaeologist."

* * *

Several minutes later, the sleepless duo exited their quarters and entered one of the Base corridors. The passageway was utterly deserted and their footsteps seemed to reverberate through the empty space. The Colonel assumed the lead and under his guidance the pair soon began turning down first one hallway and then another.

"Um, I take it you do know where we're going right?" Daniel asked conversationally, feeling more than a little lost.

"Yeah, sure. Of course I do," Jack returned with confidence. "It's right down . . ." trailing off, O'Neill lifted his index finger and began wobbling the digit between the entrances of two corridors. "Right down . . ."

"Oh, great."

"No, no, I'll get it. It's, ah . . . it's . . . it's this one."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Really?"

Jack opened and closed his mouth while dipping his hand indecisively from side to side. Crinkling his brow in frustration, he then blew out a puff of air. "Well, yeah . . . mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Mostly," O'Neill insisted, growing a bit huffy at this friend's tone of doubt. "At least I'm more sure that it is, than I am that it isn't."

Contorting his eyebrows in a look of complete confusion, Daniel cocked his head to one side. Before he could ask for any clarification on the Colonel's comment, however, said Colonel grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the chosen hallway.

"Aw, c'mon Daniel what's the worst that could happen?"

The archaeologist's mind immediately set to work conjuring up a list of 'worst' possibilities, but before he could verbalize any of them, Jack called out in triumph.

"Ah ha! See down there?" he cried, indicating a set of double doors at the end of the hall. "The commissary."

"With guards . . ." Daniel observed slowly.

"Don't say it like that, Danny. It's just the night patrol, not a hoard of Jaffa. They're not gonna' shoot us."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Really?"

"Why do I feel like I've had this conversation?"

"Jack -"

"Daniel, will you can it. Now c'mon." Striding forward, archaeologist in tow, O'Neill boldly approached the two man patrol team. "Hey, kids," he greeted merrily. "Colonel Jack O'Neill United States Air Force, Dr. Daniel Jackson civilian consultant and expert on all things . . . old." Gesturing to their ID tags as he spoke, Jack waited for some kind of reaction. When none came, however, he looked to Daniel for help.

Reading this plea for assistance, the archaeologist obediently struck his best 'we come in peace' smile and began. "Hi, um, we have permission to be here - well maybe not here exactly, but . . . I mean we do its just . . ." groaning at this miserable attempt to explain, Jackson tried again. "What I'm trying to say is that we're guests here and we have, or rather we'd like to . . . that is we're . . ."

"Hungry," the teammates finished together.

A short pause followed this unanimous statement and after a beat Daniel slipped his eyes to the left, while simultaneously O'Neill slipped his to the right. Brief side-long glances were traded and then, as one, they shifted their attention back to the guards.

Seconds ticked by, but at length the bravest of the two servicemen - a Sergeant - managed a reply.

"I'm sorry, Sirs, but the commissary is closed."

Hearing this simple fact, Daniel leaned closer to O'Neill and dropped his head behind the other man's shoulder. "Told you." he muttered.

Throwing an evil glare at his companion, Jack refused to surrender and, in his best Colonel voice, he addressed the guard. "Well, now, there Sergeant we disagree." A dangerous flash of irritation accompanied this rebuttal and he rocked up on his heels. "Your Commander assured me that we were to be given full access to all areas of this base - _including_ the commissary."

Deciding in an instant that challenging the opinion of this visiting Colonel was not something he wanted to attempt, the Sergeant snapped to attention. "Yes, Sir." Pulling a ring of master keys from his belt, the young man then set about unlocking the commissary.

O'Neill beamed with approval at this development and pinned Daniel with his very best 'see there I told ya' smirk. When his gaze finally drifted back to the sentries, he nodded to each of them in turn. "Sergeant, Private . . . Doctor?"

Unaccustomed to hearing Jack refer to him by this title, Daniel floundered slightly. "Hmm, what? Oh, um . . ." Shaking the lost expression from his face, the archaeologist squared his shoulders. "Right. Coming . . . Colonel."

* * *

TBC . . . (Next chapter enter Teal'c!)


	2. Scrounging

**Disclaimer: **I am still Stargate franchise-less . . . please see previous chapter for further details

**Author's Note:** Thank everyone so much for taking the time to read, review, follow, and/or favorite this wacky little tag scene. Your support means so much! When I realized that the story had begun to climb over 4000 words, I really worried that it might start to suffer from being too long. Thanks to your encouragement and interest, though, here I am back with more . . . lots more. So much more in fact that I am breaking it up into two chapters. I know I've gone completely crazy with this, but it seems like the more I try to contain it, shorten it, trim it down, hold it in, it just keeps getting bigger. Just think about the plant in 'Zero Hour' and you'll have a fair idea of how I feel!

**Genre:** Smattering of Angst mid-chapter for this one, but as before it is predominately Friendship/Humor

* * *

XXXXXXX

Slipping past the guards, and his all too jubilant friend, Daniel pushed through the commissary doors. The room he entered was dark, lit only by the light from the hallway. Stacked tables and chairs were vaguely discernible within the space as were the long, glass covered serving counters. Choosing his way carefully, Jackson wandered a few feet from the entrance and came to a standstill. Behind him, he heard Jack dismiss the two guards and also move into the room. After that, the large double doors fell closed, reducing their visibility from limited to virtually non-existent.

"Well, this is interesting," Daniel remarked, his eyes roaming through the blackness.

The Colonel cast an exasperated look at what he assumed was Jackson's back and pivoted in a tight circle. "Ya' think?"

". . . No," the archaeologist admitted around a heavy exhale. "Not really. You?"

Feigning annoyance, Jack threw another unhappy face into the dark and swatted at the figure in front of him.

"Hey!" Daniel objected as an open palm connected solidly with the top of his head.

Pleased by the accuracy of his aim given the unfavorable lighting conditions, O'Neill smirked. "Watch it, smarty."

Frowning at this belated warning, Daniel probed the area of his skull that had been impacted. "Ow," he mumbled dispassionately.

Jack grinned, secure in the knowledge that he hadn't caused his friend any real pain, and deliberated about what to do next. Since the need for light appeared to be their biggest concern he decided that, for the second time tonight, he should go in search of a power source. No longer within arms reach of the wall, however, the Colonel found himself faced with the unique challenge of not knowing exactly where the wall - much less the light switch - was. He had a fair idea of the general direction, of course, but the lack of visual aids was reeking havoc with his sense of depth perception. This being the case, he cautiously began exploring the unknown with his hands, feeling about for potential hazards. 'Clearing' the area directly to his right, he re-oriented himself and took a few shuffled steps forward.

"Um, Jack?"

"Wha- Ah!"

The sound of flesh colliding with something solid preceded this outcry and the reports of a distinctly 'domino' style crash followed soon after. There were thumps, cracks, and metallic sort of ringing noises - all of which seemed to escalate in both volume and frequency by the second. Then, as rapidly as the cacophony had multiplied, it ceased and faded away.

The renewed silence was almost deafening and left Daniel wide eyed with curiosity. "Jack?"

A final, clanking crash punctuated this question - along with several unintelligible grumbles from O'Neill - but other than that the room remained quiet.

"Jack?"

"What _is_ it Daniel?" the Colonel ground out testily.

"You alright?"

"Just peachy." Without further elaboration, Jack then moved away from the site of his misstep. A scream of protest shot through his right shin at the action and he hissed uncomfortably. Mysterious, hard objects were definitely not his preferred opponents - at least not as far as his leg was concerned. Burying this revelation in the back of his mind, O'Neill pressed onward until he reached the wall. Moments later, he sung out in victory. "Ha! Found it." The overhead lighting flickered on as he spoke and soon the room was illuminated by a harsh glow.

"Oh, wow," Daniel began, squinting against the light. "That's . . ." Trailing off, he stood slack jawed as the commissary and more importantly the aftermath of O'Neill's 'wreck' eased into focus. The sight was something to behold, awe inspiring even, as an entire section of once towered tables and chairs now lay in ruins.

Oblivious to this scene of utter destruction, Jack prompted his friend to continue. "Excuse me?"

"Huh? Oh. Well, I was going to say 'better', but . . ."

"But what?"

Unable to verbalize an adequate answer for this question, Jackson simply intensified his focus on the pile of debris.

"What?" O'Neill repeated, genuinely bewildered. His bafflement was short lived, however, as his periphery vision soon began processing glimpses of the mess he'd created. Whirling about in a rush of embarrassed horror, he felt his face blanch with shock. Somehow he had already managed to convince himself that the 'incident' wouldn't look nearly as awful as it had sounded. The desolation now revealed, though, was - if anything - much, much worse. Darting his eyes between the array of jumbled furniture and his mesmerized companion, Jack struggled to think of something reasonable to say. "That's not my fault," he blurted out impulsively.

"Of course it isn't," Daniel placated, though his expression belied total disbelief.

O'Neill gathered one corner of his mouth into a frown and glowered at the archaeologist. "It was dark."

"Yes, Jack."

"_Really_ dark."

"Um hum."

"Well it was!"

"I never said it wasn't."

"Daniel!"

"Yes, Jack?"

The Colonel let out a loud, aggravated humph and ran several fingers through his hair. Leveling a dangerous look at Daniel - daring him to speak again - Jack then stalked toward the discombobulated heap. Just short of his goal he paused to survey the damage, hands on his hips. "Stupid place to put a table," he bellyached under his breath.

With a barely restrained grin, Daniel moved across the room and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It _is_ a commissary, Jack."

"I can't help it," the man grumbled, pulling away to rub his still throbbing shin. "Does this _look_ like a good place for a table?"

"Well no, not now - but I imagine it wasn't half bad a few minutes ago." Shying away to avoid another swat at his cranial region, Jackson grabbed a chair and inserted it between himself and O'Neill.

"Coward," Jack taunted.

"Oh, yes," Daniel replied without a shred of reluctance. Reaching downward, he then disengaged a second chair and stacked it atop the first. Even before his load had fully dropped into place, though, a group of thoughtful lines swarmed onto his forehead. "Maybe I need a whip . . . think it would help?"

The Colonel rolled his eyes and thrust a hand into the mound of furniture. Latching onto a random metal leg, he gave the item several hard pulls. "Maybe you've . . . been watching . . . too many movies . . . with Teal'c," he mumbled, grunting every few syllables. A second later, the article he'd been yanking broke free, causing the already fallen tables and chairs to crumple even further.

"Yeah, you're right . . ." Daniel shrugged, jumping clear of the unstable pile. "Probably wouldn't help me much anyway."

"What wouldn't?"

"A . . . Oh, I don't know. Anything I guess."

The self-deprecation evident in this reply was enough to cue Jack that there had been a subliminal shift in the atmosphere. No longer were they speaking purely in jest about matters of little importance - now they were entering the serious territory of Daniel's burdened state of mind. The change had occurred in an instant and O'Neill worried at how easily the oppressive memories had returned. Setting his face with determination, he then sought out the troubled blue eyes. "You do alright," he declared confidently.

Jackson snorted at this reassurance and again sent a hand into the furniture pile. Landing upon a particularly entangled table he funneled all of his negative energy into extracting the object with much more force than was necessary. "Yeah," he spat ruefully.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy," O'Neill quieted, grabbing his arm.

Unconsciously, Daniel rebelled against the subtle, comforting touch and his muscles tensed into knots. His grip tightened around the metal he held and his jaw muscles worked with a vengeance.

Observing these reactions, the Colonel pulled his hands away. He could almost feel the regret and self-anger radiating from the other man in waves. "Dang it, Daniel," he muttered, head canted to one side. "I thought you weren't going to make me talk about this?"

The archaeologist relaxed just a fraction at this reminder, but could not bring himself to answer. He really hadn't intended on giving rein to his emotions tonight; or of allowing his innermost doubts to parade themselves for all the world to see . . . yet here it was happening. Granted, Jack as his sole audience hardly constituted the whole world, but as far as Daniel was concerned he might as well be. If the urge to go crawl into an invisible hole had seemed appealing before, it was downright irresistible now.

"Danny." The Colonel's tone, though gentle, was also commanding and his countenance brooked no argument.

Taking repeated heavy breaths, Jackson closed his eyes. Surrendering to the inevitable, he then concentrated on keeping his voice even. "It wasn't enough."

"What wasn't?"

"I, I tried, Jack. With all I had I . . . but it, it . . . it still wasn't enough."

"Daniel -"

"You and Teal'c almost died!" he interrupted passionately.

"I know, I was there!" O'Neill threw back, as if the obvious had been overlooked.

"Jack, if it hadn't been for me and my _brilliant_ deductions, you two would never have gone back into that sub; and you wouldn't have almost been blown to smithereens if I could have just -"

"Ack! Stop right there," the Colonel directed. "Just stop."

Jackson retreated slightly, wrapping both arms about himself and looking to the floor. "Jack, I -"

"No, Daniel," O'Neill insisted. Filling his lungs with air, he then exhaled slow and steady. "Okay," he began, pointer fingers raised. "Question: How long did you fight me before agreeing to fire those torpedoes?"

"What?"

"You heard me. How long?"

Confused by this only loosely connected inquiry, Daniel paused. "I don't know. Few seconds maybe."

"No, I want you to be specific," Jack corrected patiently. "Give me a number."

The archaeologist grew frustrated at the man's insistence and waved both hands outward in a helpless gesture. "I don't know!"

"Guess."

"Ah, okay, um, twenty seconds?"

"Wrong. I timed the tapes. It was eighty-eight seconds - _exactly_."

"Jack I really don't need -"

"Second question," the Colonel continued, ignoring his friend's lack of cooperation. "How long were we out of that submarine before it exploded?"

"I, I really have no idea. I wasn't paying much attention at that point."

"It was seven seconds. Well, six point nine seconds actually if you want to get technical about it." A superior sort of head jiggle accented this mathematical addendum and O'Neill bounced onto his toes with pride. "Do the subtraction, Daniel."

"Jack, it doesn't . . ."

"Yes it does. Subtract Daniel," he ordered crossly.

Flailing his arms a bit wider, Jackson scrutinized the ceiling and began calculating the difference. "Ah . . . eighty-one point one."

The Colonel, who had traced his friend's upward optical trail, dropped his eyes sharply at the quick response. A fleeting hint of vexation marred his otherwise cocky appearance and he again inspected the plane above. "I used a calculator."

Despite being wholly irrelevant, this silly revelation did succeed in making Daniel smile. His dark thoughts soon clouded the moment, however, and he folded a protective arm across his chest. "What's your point, Jack?"

Drawn back to the discussion at hand, O'Neill became serious. "My point is that if it hadn't been for you and your all fired stubbornness Teal'c and I _would_ be dead! Nobody else would have held out for us the way you did. Had Major Davis been in charge, we would have been history long before the Asgard beam reached us - because, unlike _some_ people, he actually obeys my orders the _first_ time! But where a good officer like the Major simply follows orders, you follow your gut. That's why he wasn't in charge, _you_ were. That's also why when it comes down to who I want watching my back I'd rather a pig-headed, brainiac like you on my six than a dozen good order-takers like Paul Davis."

Taken aback by this rare outburst of honesty, Daniel blinked several times. "But Jack, it's not just -"

"Wait, I'm not finished yet," O'Neill barked, preemptively silencing him. "I know I complain about you - _a_ _lot_ . . . you've got a tongue that won't quit, a brain that's big enough to stuff inside two people's heads, and you give me a royal pain in a variety of places, but don't think for one minute that you're not good enough to be a part of this Team . . .You got that?"

The fierceness of these words left Jackson even more stunned than before and he had to swallow hard against the turning tide of his emotions. A mixture of disbelief, acceptance and finally gratitude swelled within him, each fighting to overwhelm his despair. He couldn't truly say he agreed with the Colonel - his sense of inadequacy was far too entrenched to simply disappear now - but somehow just knowing that _Jack_ believed it brought him a certain measure of peace.

"Well?" O'Neill snapped, suddenly growing uncomfortable with the heavy, visceral mood.

"Jack, I, I don't know how to . . . I mean coming from you it -"

"Ack!" Intercepting this clearly evocative preamble, the Colonel tried to sound perturbed. "So help me Daniel if you say something warm and fuzzy right now I'll . . ."

A grin shot across Jackson's face at the unspecified threat and he ducked his head. "Right . . . thanks, Jack."

"Don't mention it. So - we good?"

Unfolding his arms, Daniel lifted his eyes with a resolute nod. "Yeah, we're good."

"Good. Now get yourself in gear and help me pick up the rest of this junk," O'Neill directed.

"Yes, Jack."

"And move it," he added crisply. "All this soul-baring psycho-babble has really heightened my appetite."

* * *

Once the commissary had again been set in order, the archaeologist and his now ravenous leader entered the kitchen. At first glance, the new area seemed to boast great potential, but as the pair explored further, they found themselves sorely disappointed. Apparently this base - like all other military facilities - was blessed with an overabundance of items in either their powdered or raw forms, but very few that could be considered 'ready to eat' . . .

"Cabbage," Jackson announced peering into yet another vegetable bin.

"Cabbage?" the Colonel echoed, his face materializing from behind a cabinet. His inflection coupled with the look of utter disgust he exhibited spoke volumes.

"I'll take that as a 'no'?" Daniel ventured, lifting his eyebrows. Turning about smartly, he then moved on to the next drawer. In this receptacle, he found a mass of tubular green things that instantly attracted his attention. "Jack?" he called inquisitively. "Can you tell the difference between cucumber and zucchini?"

O'Neill, who had just dropped back out of sight, suddenly resurfaced. His facial features once again reflected the low opinion he held of the matter.

Weighing the worth of satisfying his curiosity against this openly critical response, Jackson shrugged. "Right. Who cares?"

"Focus here, Daniel," Jack reprimanded impatiently. "This is supposed to be a _snack_."

With a sigh, the archaeologist gave his glasses a push. "Yeah, well I'm starting to get the impression that this place doesn't exactly believe in snacks."

"Nonsense," O'Neill countered, abandoning his cabinet search in favor of the large industrial sized freezer. "Everybody believes in snacks."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Daniel's lips formed an 'O', his tongue hovering on the word 'really'.

Before he could speak, however, Jack disappeared into the cooler and called out a warning . "Ack! Don't say it! Deja vu."

Remembering their two almost identical conversations from the hallway, Daniel obligingly closed his mouth. The Colonel was right - three would be a bit much. For a moment, he then stared into the depths of the walk-in freezer, debating about whether or not to enter. The sight of several rows of hanging animal carcasses, however, soon helped him decide in the negative. "Uh, Jack," he called distractedly. "You, um, finding anything in there?"

"For what are you searching Daniel Jackson?"

Throwing a surprised look over his shoulder, the archaeologist grinned. "Teal'c! How did you -"

A harsh thud from inside the freezer cut this inquiry short and both teammates exchanged worried looks. Leaning across the frozen threshold, Daniel then strained to see through the cold clouded air. "Jack? You alright?"

When nothing more than a chorus of grunts and another thud came in response to this cry, Jackson gaped into the compartment. "Oh no. Don't tell me there's furniture in here, too."

"Shut up, Daniel!"

Confused by this commentary and the resulting laughter it ignited in the archaeologist, Teal'c decided to take matters into his own hands. Crossing the room, he stepped inside the arctic chamber and watched for any signs of movement. "O'Neill."

"Teal'c?"

"Indeed," the warrior intoned. "It is I. Are you in need of assistance?"

"Nope, I -" A frustrated humph leaked into this refusal accompanied by several clinks, thunks and one yelp of pain. "So, T," Jack requested innocently. "You wanna come give me a hand with this?"

Smiling at this roundabout reply, Teal'c made his way deeper into the freezer. Not a minute later, both Colonel and Jaffa reappeared carrying a rather large object between them. Marching toward the preparation area, they then lifted the ice covered mass onto the counter.

Daniel eyed the frozen block warily, uncertain as to its contents. "If that's some sort of raw meat popsicle or something, I think I'll pass."

"That," Jack declared proudly. "Is a carton of ice cream."

"Really?"

"You just had to say it didn't you?" O'Neill muttered.

"What? Oh, sorry," Daniel grimaced, before quickly returning his attention to the container. "So, what flavor is it?"

"The label is most difficult to decipher Daniel Jackson, but I believe it to be chocolate."

"You said it Teal'c - chocolate! Fifteen gallons of it."

Jackson's eyes bulged and he assessed the object once more. "Jack, that's almost sixty pounds worth!"

"Yep," the Colonel agreed proudly.

"I don't think I'm that hungry," Daniel dead-panned. When he saw the dubious, annoyed look that eclipsed his friend's face, however, the serious pretense faded. A large grin rapidly took its place and he almost doubled over with un-uttered chuckles.

"I swear, this is the last time I take you anywhere," O'Neill griped. Making a show of ignoring the archaeologist he then paced around to Teal'c's side. "So, T what . . ." pausing mid-sentence, Jack bent closer to the Jaffa and inhaled deeply. A quizzical line darted across his forehead and he leaned in for another sniff. "Teal'c?"

"What is it, O'Neill?"

"Um, nothing personal or anything here buddy, but, ah, you seem to be a bit . . . aromatic."

The stalwart Jaffa raised his chin a fraction and trained both eyes on an empty portion of the wall. "Indeed."

Fascinated by this ambiguous answer, Daniel stepped forward testing the air with his nose. Several scents including orange, vanilla, cinnamon, and pine - among others - met his senses. "Teal'c?" he queried, subtly prodding for more information.

The warrior's gaze shifted, coming to rest on each of his friends in turn, but still he remained reticent.

"Ah, c'mon, Teal'c," Jack coaxed. "Throw us a bone here."

Seemingly baffled by this request, T sent one eyebrow climbing impossibly high. "My bones are otherwise occupied, O'Neill."

"He means give us a clue," Daniel interjected with haste. "A hint."

The corners of Teal'c's mouth dipped into a frown as he processed this translation, filing it away for future reference. "I understand."

". . . So?" O'Neill drawled, opening his hands expectantly. At first, this act garnered him nothing more than another raised eyebrow, but eventually the Jaffa replied.

"Very well. The bone with which I shall assault you is 'candles'."

Ignoring this rather unique phrasing, Jack latched onto the final word and mouthed it over and over to himself. Not two seconds later, his head jerked upward, jaw hanging slightly ajar.

Understanding seemed to dawn for Daniel at the same moment and he snapped his fingers. "Candles! Ah, ah . . . for your kel'no'reem," he fumbled, eager to solve the mystery.

"Indeed," Teal'c affirmed. "It appears Major Davis was not explicit as to their purpose when instructing the base procurement officer to acquire them."

O'Neill added this bit of information to his previous suspicions and groaned. He had specifically asked Davis to get a private room and a box of candles for Teal'c so that the Jaffa could have a chance to meditate; but Jack hadn't even thought to mention that the candles should be unscented! "Don't tell me," he mumbled rubbing a hand over his forehead.

"Were they all different?" Daniel wondered, his features compressed into a sympathetic wince.

"Of that I am uncertain. They bore no labels and only once lit did they truly begin projecting various odors."

"Well, that must have been fun," Jack muttered.

"It was not," Teal'c declared flatly. "I found it to be most disturbing."

Daniel tucked his chin and swiped the back of one hand beneath his nose. After a strangled sort of cough, he then spoke. "I'm sorry that happened Teal'c. Maybe the three of us can go back to your room later and try and sort out some of the more pungent scents for you."

"Yeah," O'Neill concurred. "Or maybe we could try organizing them all by smell. Then at least you could kel'no'reem with just one flavor." Receiving a bow of appreciation for these suggestions, Jack clasped his hands together. "Excellent. Well, now that that's settled, and speaking of flavors, whats say we all get some ice cream? Daniel, do you remember where we saw those bowls?"

"Um, yes," he answered doubtfully. "I think so. Three bowls coming up."

Jack tipped his head in acknowledgement of this reply and bent over to examine the carton. Running his fingers along the edge of the lid, he then attempted to pry it open. His knuckles turned from red to white with the strain, yet still the frozen seal refused to budge. "Oi," he humphed, his hold suddenly slipping on the icy surface.

"Your method appears to be ineffectual, O'Neill."

"Yeah. Noticed that," the Colonel grumbled, shaking out his cold, achy fingers. An idea then seemed to strike him and his face brightened. "So, Teal'c . . . why don't you give this a shot and I'll go dig us up some spoons?" Receiving an upper body tilt in acceptance of this offer, Jack hurried to make his escape. Not two steps into the retreat, however, a sort of ripping sound reached his ears. Spinning about, he was met by the sight of one open ice cream container and one very smug Jaffa.

"It is all in the joint, O'Neill," Teal'c informed him with a smirk.

"That's wrist, T," the Colonel corrected absently, feeling very old and out of shape all of a sudden. Glancing about in a nervous manner, he then waved a hand between himself and the muscular alien. "We're friends . . . right?"

The Jaffa's impassive face softened at this completely ridiculous and unnecessary question. "We are indeed."

"Ah," Jack nodded, quirking a lop-sided grin. "Just checking."

* * *

A short time later found all three team members reassembled around the sixty pounds of chocolate, bowls and spoons in hand.

"Alrighty campers - let's eat!" the Colonel ordered cheerfully. Retrieving a rather large serving utensil he'd had the foresight to procure, Jack then stepped up to the container. As his makeshift scoop connected with the ice cream's surface, however, his joy faltered. Apparently the carton's insides, like its seal, were frozen solid.

"Are you having a problem, O'Neill?"

Jack lifted his gaze, eyebrows see-sawing in a befuddled manner. He looked from the Jaffa, to his 'scoop', to the ice cream and back again. Muttering a soft humph, he then gave it another try . . . and another and another and another. Each time he altered his angle of approach, striking with increased force and speed, yet each time his efforts yielded no results.

Flinching in tandem with these blows, Daniel struggled to keep his amusement in check. The image of a highly decorated, black ops trained, Air Force Colonel literally bludgeoning a carton of ice cream with a spoon, though, was almost too humorous to resist. "Jack! Jack, stop please!" he begged. "I can't take it!"

"What?"

Still fighting the need to laugh - and losing terribly - the archaeologist shook his head. "Jack, why don't you let Teal'c try?"

A twinge of mischief flitted through O'Neill's dark eyes at this recommendation, but his features remained neutral. "Oh. Okay," he shrugged indifferently, handing over the would be scoop. "Here ya' go."

Teal'c bowed, accepting the proffered implement, and approached the container. He considered it at length, as one considers an enemy before battle, and raised the spoon with determination.

"Ah, Teal'c! We just want to eat it - you don't have to try and kill it," Daniel cautioned.

Locking eyes with Dr. Jackson, the Jaffa seemed to mull over this advice. Flexing his fingers about the handle of the spoon, he then drove it downward with great force.

"Or not . . ."

Peering into the carton, Jack let out a murmur of praise. "Whoa. Nice depth on that one, T. Must be in there about two inches."

"So it would appear, O'Neill."

The Colonel grinned broadly and lifted his bowl. "Well, c'mon big guy. Start dishin' it out."

Adjusting his grip, Teal'c began applying steady pressure in an attempt to lever a portion of the ice cream free. His arm shook slightly with the effort as did the neck of his chosen instrument.

"Ah, ah . . ." Daniel sputtered, pointing to the quivering handle. "Ah the, the . . ." Tapping Jack's arm with one hand, he anxiously gestured for him to do something.

Reduced to unintelligible sentence starters himself, O'Neill watched helplessly as the spoon slowly started to bend out of shape. When it had almost reached a full ninety degree angle, the Colonel forced his vocal chords into action. "Teal'c!"

Pausing, the Jaffa waited for his friend to continue.

"Your method appears to be . . . not working."

"Yeah," Daniel added tentatively. "Maybe we should try something else."

"I agree," Teal'c stated, removing the damaged utensil. "This tool is indeed insufficient."

O'Neill smiled weakly at this admission and reached for the 'tool'. He was just turning it over in his hands, when a feminine voice filled the room.

"Hey guys."

Simultaneous cries of 'Sam' and 'Major Carter' answered this greeting and Jack felt his chest tighten . . . of all the people in the galaxy to catch him red handed in the middle of a snack raid!

* * *

XXXXXXX

TBC . . .

Well there it is. I would love to know what you think! After fighting with this thing for so long, personally I'm not sure I even like it anymore, but maybe to 'fresh eyes' its okay.

**K'MI.974**, I am so sorry! I wanted so badly to get this up for you last weekend, but things just didn't work out. I have no excuse really, just real life in general (and an uncooperative story - this thing just would not stay where I put it!).

**judybear236** - Keep the replicator sheep at bay just a little bit longer! I've almost made it! The end is so close . . . :)

**Squee-bunny**, the first 'hunk' of this chapter was for you . . . that extra Jack/Daniel 'bonding time' you requested. Hope it scratched your itch.


	3. Explanations & the Results of Boredom

**Disclaimer:** About the same as before. No infringement intended.

**Word of Apology:** So this is totally not the 'early next week' I had in mind for posting this final chapter! For this I am very, very sorry. The darn thing grew on me again and then my computer decided it didn't want to upload to FanFiction. After struggling with it for several days to no avail, I decided to engage in some superstitious behavior. I took it into town and connected via a local WiFi spot. Wonder of wonders the thing loaded without a hitch! Have I mentioned to anyone lately that I love electronics?

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your patience, support and wonderful reviews! **K'MI.974, Hummingbird2, PatriciaS, dpdp, pain in the mitka,** and everyone else who has taken the time to leave a review, follow or favorite this story thank you so, so much!

Also a special word of thanks to **judybear236** (my great unofficial beta!) and **Tel nok shock** for your inspiring reviews and feedback! I hope you don't mind, but I stole some of your review suggestions and worked them into my story . . . they were just too good to pass up!

I'd also like to give a huge welcome to **NoraAnne1929**! I have sorely missed your support since branching out of the realm of 'MacGyver'. Now that you have finally been sucked into the awesome world of 'Stargate SG-1', though, I am so excited to have you back! Your reviews and feedback mean so much! Thank you!

**Genre:** Humor/Friendship abounds. Little to no real Angst. There is a nice dose of Shippy Romance in this chapter though (J/S in nature). Since this episode ('Small Victories') was so close to 'Divide and Conquer', I figured the time frame was conducive to a bit of shipping. Nothing overwhelming and nothing to conflict with canon - just some unspoken thoughts and meaningful looks. In short Jack and Sam being their normal, aggravating, can't say anything, but wish we could selves. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

XXXXXXX

Jack O'Neill stood rooted to the floor - the sound of Carter's 'hey guys' still ringing in his ears - and calmly prayed for the Base to swallow him whole. When no giant mouths or gaping black chasms conveniently materialized, however, his hopes for salvation shifted to even more improbable events . . . like the Apocalypse! After all, if the world was going to end, as so many had prophesied that it would, surely this was as good a time as any. Granted they had just finished saving the darn place - again - but he could really go for some colossal, planetary threat with the potential for total annihilation right about now. Scrunching his features together as though exerting every ounce of his will power, O'Neill waited for the desired pandemonium to strike. Naturally, of course, now that he actually wanted things to plummet into confusion, not a single disturbance was to be had.

After several torturous yet uneventful seconds had passed in this manner, Jack resigned himself to the inevitable and turned to face his Second in Command. He found her standing just inside the doorway, a knock-out Carter smile gracing her lips, and he swallowed against the sight. All dismal dreams for the future were then forgotten as he took in the rest of her appearance. Her hair had that cute slept-on look and she was wearing a black, short sleeve tee. Not that it really mattered what the Major wore of course. For all the difference it would've made, she might as well have been standing there in full combat gear or swathed from head to toe in burlap. Without question his reaction to her presence had absolutely nothing to do with the way she was dressed. It had to do with _her_. Rousing himself from these dangerous thoughts, O'Neill cleared his throat. As he did so, the circumstances of their current meeting returned to the forefront of his mind. With sudden clarity he recalled the kitchen, the ice cream, the spoon - _the spoon__!_ Struck by an unreasonable jolt of panic, O'Neill quickly whisked the piece of incriminating evidence behind his back. "Carter!"

"Hello, Sir," she acknowledged, grinning at his adorable, 'busted' expression. "Mind if I join you?"

"No, no . . . please." Accenting these words with a wild encompassing gesture, the Colonel tried to appear both casual and welcoming. He failed miserably of course, but Carter didn't seem to mind. Without hesitation she moved into the room - an all knowing glint in her eye the only clue that she had even noticed his suspect behavior. Illogically, this act of obedience somehow reminded Jack of the mangled object still clutched in his hand. Never had he wanted to be rid of anything quite as badly as he did that spoon. Sidling a few paces to the right, therefore, he positioned himself just in front of Daniel.

"So, Sam," Jackson began, observing O'Neill's movements with interest. "How did you . . . find us?"

"Oh, I couldn't sleep, overtired I guess, so I decided to go for a walk. I happened down the hallway outside, saw the light and got curious."

The archaeologist, whose attention was now being claimed by the rather frenetic wobblings of a certain spoon, nodded vacantly.

"Good instincts, Carter," Jack applauded, plunging into the conversation. "Doesn't she have good instincts, Daniel?"

This powerfully spoken and somehow multifaceted question, gave Daniel pause. His mouth opened, jaw pulling to one side, while his brow rippled in concentration. Before his eyes, the already hyper utensil was now bouncing uncontrollably.

"_Doesn't_ she, Daniel?"

Spurred into action by this second 'hint', Jackson snatched away the damaged scoop. Thrusting it behind his own back, he then returned his attention to Sam. "Oh yes. Great instincts," he agreed, plastering on a smile.

Shifting her weight onto one hip, the Major appraised her teammates carefully. "Okay, guys - Sir - what did you break?"

An aghast yet concurrently guilty expression washed over Jack's face at this question and he started to protest. In the end, though, all that emerged was a long, protracted groan. Raking an agitated hand through his gray locks, he then stole a glance in Daniel's direction.

"Hey, don't look at me."

"Well you're the linguist."

"And . . . so?"

"So shouldn't you be linguisting here or something?"

"_Linguist-ing_? Jack that isn't even a -"

"Forget the English lesson, Daniel."

"But-"

"Say something clever, Daniel," the Colonel snapped bluntly.

"Like what?"

"I don't know . . . just tell her why you did it."

"Why _I_ - but you - ah! Jack, I didn't do anything!"

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Jack!"

"Well, it was your idea."

"No it wasn't!"

"Yes it was!"

"No. It wasn't."

"Aw, c'mon Daniel, you're the one who said I should let Teal'c try."

"But . . ." huffing out at heavy breath, Daniel squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Okay, so maybe I am responsible for that - but you certainly can't blame me for the rest of this mess."

"What 'rest'?"

"What do you mean 'what rest'? All the rest, any of the rest, take your pick."

"Holy Hannah," Carter muttered. "How many messes are there?"

"There. Are. No. Messes," Jack refuted firmly. Under intense scrutiny from SG-1's various members, however, he eventually amended this claim. "Okay. So maybe there was _one_ mess . . ._ before._"

"Yeah," Jackson humphed. "Sam, you should have seen it. There were all these tables and chairs and Jack started this huge -" The archaeologist was just about to embellish his tale with either a vocal or gestural rendering of an avalanche, when O'Neill clamped a hand on his arm. The message conveyed through the iron like grip was clear : If Daniel valued his life, all such plans for embellishment should be forgotten. Signaling receipt of this 'request' with a soundless gasp of pain, the archaeologist then offered a marginally penitent shrug.

Satisfied with this result, Jack loosened his hold. "It was nothing, Major."

Sam bit her lip at this assertion, teetering on the brink of unstoppable giggles. "Yes, Sir."

Witnessing the unhelpful effect this entire exchange was having on his companions' already jocular states of mind, Teal'c decided to interpose a note of reason. "O'Neill, would it not be wise to abandon further discussion of your previous exploits in favor of informing Major Carter as to our current dilemma? I believe she maybe of some assistance in this matter."

Though Jack would have balked at the thought of such disclosure earlier, he now found it rather appealing - sort of the lesser of two evils. After all, admitting to 'borrowing' ice cream - even if it was with malice aforethought and intent to consume - would be far less embarrassing than having to reveal the rest of their nocturnal activities, right? Besides, maybe the Major was hungry . . .

Deciding to run with this happy thought, O'Neill voiced his approval. "Now _that_ is a wonderful suggestion," he commended. "So Carter, you got any more dumb ideas up your sleeve? I warn you, this one's a toughy."

A mega-watt smile lit Sam's face at this challenge and she moved closer. "What's the problem, Sir?"

"This," he informed her, releasing Daniel's wrist to point at the container.

"What is it?"

"That Major is sixty frozen pounds of prime US military -"

"Ice cream," Teal'c and Daniel interrupted.

A bothered wrinkle creased O'Neill's face at this unimaginative description and he stammered. "S-solid, very solid, ice cream."

"Wow," Carter murmured. Admiringly, she then traced a finger over the carton's crystallized label. Beneath her touch, portions of the thick frost began to melt and she smiled. Ridiculous though it was, she had developed a special affinity for the sight of water transforming from solid to liquid form. The process always reminded her of . . . things. Things that had to do with a certain white-walled cavern, an immense glacial wilderness and of a young Captain struggling to save her Commander. True, the experience in and of itself had been far from pleasurable, but the memories she carried of that time were ironically precious to her; not because of the place, or the circumstances, but because of the wonderful man she'd discovered there. The man who was so much more than just _Colonel _Jonathon O'Neill - the man who was _Jack_. Determined. Protective. Sarcastic. Irritating. Caring. Supportive. Gentle. Vulnerable. Jack who, even when close to death, had sought to make her smile. Rubbing a thumb over the icy droplets clinging to her forefinger, Sam again quirked her lips; a warm, wonderful memory spiriting through her thoughts . . .

_My melted ice is to die for . . ._

"Whatcha' thinkin' there, Carter?"

At this dangerously phrased prompt, the Major flicked her eyes onto O'Neill. Under normal circumstances, it would have been easy to summon an analytical reply to cover her sentimental wanderings - something professional and emotionless pertaining to the virtue of the ice cream itself rather than to her true train of thought. Tonight, however, even the pragmatic side of her brain was choosing to betray her. 'O'Neill-esque' adjectives and comeback lines kept drifting onto the tip of her tongue, as if her mind felt compelled to reveal that she had been thinking of _him_. Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, Carter tried to view the predicament rationally. After all, it wasn't like using a superior officer's pet expression was against regulations; and it certainly wouldn't _mean_ anything, not really, right? Convinced by this line of reasoning, Sam rashly decided to indulge herself just this once.

"Yo, Carter," Jack called in a whisper. Waggling his head toward the container, he then nudged her yet again for an opinion on his find.

The Major grinned, her eyes alight and dancing. "Sweet . . . Sir."

For reasons he dared not even fathom, hearing Carter use this snippet of his vocabulary brought Jack a great deal of pleasure. Half of a very cheeky grin edged onto his features as a result and he temporarily lost himself in her eyes. Even as he delved deeper into her gaze, however, something in the playful blue pools shifted. Out of nowhere, a pained almost startled look appeared - clearly sparked by some unsolicited thought or memory - along with the faintest hint of fear. Not imminent fear, as one dreading the future, but a haunting fear, as one stung by the past . . . or in this case, he suspected, by what had almost been. They _had_ cut it close this time - very close.

True, in lives such as theirs', the threat of death was a given. It hung like a shadow over all they did; every mission they accepted, every chance they took, sometimes even every step they made. Yet for the most part, it was a shadow they all ignored - or buried beneath an inner mantra of _'just keep moving . . . no matter what, just keep moving'_. There were times, of course, when even these efforts were not enough. Death would come too close, as it had today, and remind them all of how truly fragile life could be.

Now, as O'Neill studied Carter, he could see such 'fragility of life' concerns playing through her eyes. He had sensed the emotional war within her soon after their rescue, but until this moment he hadn't truly understood the extent to which her inner defenses had been breached.

Stifling a quiet sigh - and the thought that this must be National 'Amateur Therapy Day' - Jack prepared to take down the wave of fear assaulting his Major. He drew in a shallow breath and narrowed his eyes to a gentle, precise focus. The woman before him followed his lead seamlessly and together they communicated a lifetime of words in a moment of silence. All of the horrifying 'what ifs' were slowly laid to rest and the reality of life in the here and now was again given the preeminence. Maybe death _had_ come close today - closer than either of them would have liked - but in the end it had failed; and it was this failure Jack forced her to remember.

As the dark shadows gradually faded from Sam's eyes and her smile returned, the Colonel nodded in approval. Perhaps he wasn't so lousy at this whole 'communication' thing after all? Dismissing this thought almost immediately, O'Neill soon turned his mind to other more enjoyable things . . . like the memory of Carter's subtly flirtatious _'Sweet . . . Sir'_. Cocking a mischievous brow and twisting his lips upward just so, he then replied to the long abandoned statement. "Yeah, sweet."

"That is in fact a baseless assumption, O'Neill," Teal'c observed, tactfully derailing the couple's conversation. "The sugar content of this ice cream has yet to be determined."

As intended, this sampling of Jaffa humor quickly punctured Jack and Sam's intimate concentration. Without effort they simultaneously withdrew to predetermined positions - that of leader and subordinate - and their protective, interior barriers returned. There was a brief, awkward pause following this shift, but soon the tension of their close moment slipped away, and they started to laugh.

Unfortunately, the Air Force officers weren't the only ones to have their attention shattered by Teal'c's joke. Daniel, who had been 'busy' rearranging their assorted bowls and spoons into some sort of hieroglyph, was equally unprepared for the remark and responded by gagging on a mouthful of oxygen.

With a bemused frown, Jack studied his archaeologist. "Ya' alright there Danny?"

"M'fine," Jackson wheezed, leaning onto the counter. "Just tried to swallow my tongue that's all."

"Sir?" Sam intervened, before the Colonel could utter a word. Offering an infinitesimal shake of the head, she then pleaded with him to let it go.

"But Cart-"

"Please, Sir?"

Sighing dramatically, a shadow of disappointment darkening his features, O'Neill acquiesced. "Right. So, moving on . . . whaddya' say about giving us a hand here, Carter?"

"Well, I'll do what I can, Sir, but I'm afraid I still don't understand - what's wrong with it?"

"Apparently the freezer compartment of this base is calibrated to a much cooler temperature than is necessary," Teal'c informed her.

"Yeah, so this stuff is . . . frozen. Stiff as a brick. Tough as a rock." Contemplating these comparisons for a beat, Jack then added one more. "Hard as Danny's head."

Ignoring the eye roll this elicited from Daniel, Sam immediately set about reexamining the carton. As she did so, her brilliant blue orbs landed on the chocolate's gashed surface. "Um, Sir what . . ?"

"That is my doing, Major Carter," T confessed, plucking the dreaded spoon from behind Jackson's back. "Utilizing this tool I attempted to extract some of the ice cream for our consumption. As you can see, however, my efforts were of little value."

The astrophysicist smiled wanly at this admission, her focus waffling between Teal'c's stony expression and the pitiful piece of silverware.

"I guess we should have waited for it to thaw out . . . some," Daniel conceded.

"Nonsense," Jack dismissed trying to sound confident. "Who can wait three hours for ice cream to thaw? Besides no real harm done." Swiping the scoop from Teal'c's hand as he spoke, the Colonel opened the closest drawer, discarded the evidence and slammed it shut. The expressive lines of his face went through a series of contortions during this process - his eyebrows in particular rising and falling at erratic intervals - but when the act was done, he again appeared confident. "So, Carter - any dumb ideas leapin' to mind?"

"Hmm, this is a problem, Sir," Sam replied, choosing not to comment on her Commander's wily ways. Circling the container once more, she then began poking and prodding its outer casing with interest. When this examination had dragged on for almost a full minute, however, her audience grew impatient.

"Could we not use a weapon to further the disintegration process, O'Neill?"

Intrigued by this notion, Jack tipped his head to one side. "What kind of weapon, T?"

"I believe a zat would be most useful for this purpose."

"Oh, yeah?" the Colonel said brightly. "How 'bout it, Carter?"

A look best described as well harnessed alarm swept through Sam's big, round eyes and she gulped. "Well, Sir . . . actually -"

"Yes, Carter?"

"I don't think that's the answer, Sir." Using her hands to illustrate as she spoke, the Major tried to convey exactly what she meant. "You see, a zat blast is comprised of concentrated energy encapsulated in a low pulse of heat that reacts with different forms of matter in different ways. Now, while the entrance of heat alone might prove beneficial to our current problem, there is no way to judge how good or bad the introduction of the accompanying jolt of energy might be."

Jack swapped an unsure glance with Daniel, traded a raised eyebrow with Teal'c and then looked back to the astrophysicist. "_Of_ _course_ there isn't."

Curling her lips inward to keep from grinning, Sam shook her head. "Let me put it this way, Sir - when a zat strikes an inanimate object, like the control lever for a Goa'uld door, we know that the end result is a virtual welding of all the various metal elements. Of course while heat is involved in this process the combination of that heat with the Naquadah spawned energy burst has a very unique effect on the impacted particles. Basically it reverses the altered molecular structure produced by the introduction of the heat within three point nine milliseconds of the initial blast, resulting in a fractional decrease of the object's overall temperature rather than an increase."

"So we'd actually be making this thing colder by introducing heat?" Jackson summarized, a perplexed frown marking his face.

"If we introduce the heat in the form of a zat blast, yes."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" O'Neill blustered, hands held upright and fingers strumming through the air. "So you're telling me there's such a thing as a heat that _cools_ stuff?"

"Not so much the heat itself, Sir, but rather the alien energy that accompanies it. I know it sounds weird, but think of it this way - remember the zatted lever in our example? Well, rather than thinking of it as having been welded or 'melted' together, think of it as having been 'frozen' together."

"Frozen," Jack repeated. Quietly rehashing the Major's logic for a moment - sorting the basic 'highlights' into some semblance of order - he then attempted to respond. "Okay, so if we zat this thing it could end up even more solid than it is now?"

"Yes, Sir. Either that or . . ."

"Or what?"

"Or it could just explode."

"Explode?" chorused the human members of SG-1. Looking to one another with disbelief and just a twinge of irritation, they then turned back to the Major.

Seeing their expectant faces, Carter expounded on her second theory. "Yes, Sir. I mean obviously the molecular structure of ice cream is dissimilar to that of metal or iron. I'd have to run some simulations before I could tell you exactly how it would react, but considering that the main ingredient is water I would say that an explosion is quite possible. As you know, of all the substances on Earth, water is one of the few that actually expands when it is frozen. This being the case, any rapid decrease of the carton's temperature could result in an unsustainable rate of expansion that could potentially -"

"Att! Carter!" O'Neill hushed, visions of chocolate splattered walls already flashing through his mind. Dismissing these images as quickly as possible, he briefly held a breath and surveyed his teammates. "Alright, scratch the zat. New plan. Carter?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"New plan," he repeated, flourishing one hand as though to summon some magical power from his Second. A boyish look of anticipation accompanied this gesture and he waited with rapt attention.

Filling the inside of one cheek with her tongue, Sam struggled to conceal a smile. Despite her efforts, a small upward twist of her lips soon emerged and she blushed self-consciously. "Well actually, Sir, I think I may have an idea."

"Does it involve procuring some form of Earth ordnance, Major Carter?" the action-minded Jaffa pried.

"No, Teal'c, no ordnance, but I will need a few things. Permission to give it a try, Colonel?"

Jack smirked indulgently, dropping both arms onto the counter, and nodded. "By all means, Major. Try away."

"Thank you, Sir. Daniel, can you find me a large baking sheet?"

"Um, yeah, sure - I think so."

"Great. And Teal'c if you could bring me one of those chairs from the commissary?"

"As you wish, Major Carter."

When her teammates had splintered away to perform their assigned tasks, Sam bounced in place slightly and gave the Colonel a look of reassurance. Sparing an affectionate pat for the icy carton, she then paced toward one of the kitchen's many ovens. Familiarizing herself with the controls, she adjusted the dials and began experimenting with various door positions.

Behind her back, O'Neill guesstimated the height of his ice cream - placing one hand at its rim and the other at its base - and floated this measurement toward the aperture of the oven. Running his eyes between the two incompatible objects, he considered making an observation. Sloughing off this notion almost immediately, the Colonel dropped his arms with dispatch. "Ignorance is bliss," he rambled under his breath.

"What was that, Sir?"

"Nothing, Carter, nothing. How's it going?"

Sam flashed a grin over her shoulder. "Great, Sir. I think this should work out just fine."

Jack tried to convince himself that hope for success was all he needed to hear from her - that the ins and outs of her plan were not for him to ponder. The longer he observed her preparations, however, the more he wanted to know just what he had so blindly given his Major permission to 'try'. When at last his curiosity had reached an unbearable level, he set aside his earlier nugget of wisdom in favor of asking the sixty-four thousand dollar question. "Oh, Carter," he sing-songed. "Whatcha' doin'?"

Thrilled, if a bit surprised, to be given the chance to discuss her plans, Sam pivoted toward her Commanding officer. "I'm improvising, Sir. I got the idea while we were discussing Teal'c's suggestion - the part about introducing heat into the equation. You see, what Daniel said originally was right, we need this monster to thaw out - _but_ you were also right," Carter paused, enjoying the Colonel's flush of pride at this compliment, and resumed. "It would take an inordinate amount of time for such a large container to defrost on its own. It's a matter of density, Sir - density and the temperature deferential between the freezer and the room. That's where the oven comes in. You see, normally cream and water have an average density of 1.008 kilograms per liter. When mixed with other ingredients to produce ice cream, however, the additional elements can either increase or decrease -"

"Ack!" Placing two fingers over each ear, O'Neill worked his mouth around a series of disjointed vowels. In this manner, he soon cleared his mind of the Major's tongue-tangling, technobabble and took a deep breath. What had he been thinking? Even under the best of circumstances, keeping up with Carter's gigantic brain was not something he did well – if at all. Add in the lateness of the hour, the emptiness of his stomach and the fogginess of his un-rested head and the task was virtually impossible. "Carter?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Never mind."

The Major grinned sympathetically and nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Here you go, Sam," Daniel announced, returning from his hunt. Holding up the baking sheet he'd managed to find, he waited for a verdict. "Will this do?"

"Oh, yes, that's perfect! Thank you."

"I also have returned," Teal'c declared. "Is this seat sufficient, Major Carter?"

"Oh, yes! That's just what I needed. Will you place it there in front of the open oven for me, please? And Daniel, if you would, just lay the cookie sheet on top of that, okay?"

"I am unfamiliar with this custom," T informed the group as he and Dr. Jackson fulfilled their instructions. "What is the meaning of this arrangement?"

"Well, Teal'c it's sort of a jerry-rigged solution to our problem. The plan is to move the ice cream onto the sheet to thaw," Carter explained. Tentatively, she looked to the Colonel for permission to continue. A shrug of approval, with a head-cocked proviso that she 'keep it simple', came in answer to this question and Sam again grinned. Turning back to Teal'c, she then eased into the remainder of her explanation. "Basically the oven is to provide the heat we need to speed up the thawing process. Since the carton obviously won't fit inside, I thought putting it on a chair would be our next best option. Also since heat rises, the added elevation should help. As for the pan, that's just to keep the frost from melting onto the floor."

"Good thinking, Major," O'Neill congratulated. "Effective yet neat. I like it."

"Thank you, Sir."

"So how long before we eat?"

"I'm not really sure, Sir. It will depend on . . ." Recalling her Commander's plea for brevity, Sam caught herself on the cusp of several long, technical words. "Er . . . on all that density, temperature stuff we were talking about before."

"Ah," Jack acknowledged, rejoicing at this clearly simplified version. "Well in that case, let's put this thing on to cook, bring in a few more chairs and . . . wait."

* * *

Quarter of an hour later, the foursome were seated in a semi-circle around the massive hunk of chocolate. The bowls and spoons they had gathered earlier - along with an additional set scrounged for Sam - lay strewn atop the counter, ready to serve. Much to the group's chagrin, however, the progress of 'Operation Thaw' remained minimal at best. Visibly, there was a thin sheen of moisture around the base of the carton and several wet streaks marking its outer shell, but other than that it appeared unchanged.

"This is most tedious," Teal'c observed.

"Yeah, well you know what they say," Daniel mumbled, his voice distorted by the fist propped under his chin. "A watched pot never boils. By extrapolation, I'm assuming the same holds true for ice cream."

Jack, who had begun doodling in the frosty sweat of the carton with his index, gave an absent reply. "What, so watched containers never melt?"

"Something like that."

"Now he tells us," the Colonel muttered.

"Would it not then be prudent to turn away, O'Neill?"

"No, Teal'c," Sam interjected, scolding her other teammates with a frown. "Don't listen to them. Whether we watch it or not, the temperature will continue to change at the same rate."

"That is unfortunate. Is there not some other means by which we may hasten this process?"

"Well, you could try thinking of it as a stake-out."

The Jaffa raised not one, but two eyebrows at this suggestion and appeared thoughtful. "For what purpose, O'Neill?"

"Aw, c'mon Teal'c," Jack rambled, his focus never straying from the carton. "Surely you've heard of Einstein's Theory of Relativity?" Two penetrating, blue-eyed stares locked onto the Colonel at this scientific remark, but he refused to notice. Scrolling one finger in a series of loop-de-loops, he then continued. "You know, T - it's that theory about time . . . and space," he offered, brow crinkling with concentration. "And how its all just . . . relative."

"I have not heard of this."

With a critical eye, O'Neill considered his latest scribble before tutting a gentle reproach at Teal'c. "Einstein's going to be crushed."

Ever the historian, Daniel patiently corrected his friend. "Jack, Albert Einstein has been dead since nineteen-fifty-five."

"Oh really? I didn't know that," the Colonel grouched. ". . . Point killer."

* * *

Ten minutes later the puddle beneath the ice cream was marginally larger, the streaks down the container's label slightly wider, and the frost-doodling well out of control. Circles, smiley faces and Simpson-ish figures could be seen melting into unrecognizable blobs around most of the label, while four stick figures holding some kind of vigil about a squat totem pole now occupied the upper corner.

"O'Neill?"

Jack's finger darted a meaningless squiggle across what was supposed to be, well . . . _something_, and he scowled at the result. "What is it Teal'c?"

"I do not believe your theory is correct."

"I wouldn't be surprised," the Colonel answered easily with little wonder or care. "What theory?"

"The one regarding utilizing self-deception to alter the passage of time. I have attempted to implement your suggestion, but time is in fact remaining constant."

O'Neill looked away from his project at these words and offered a soft smile. With one hand, he then reached to pat his trusting friend on the back. An icy trickle running down his forefinger, though, soon made him pause and he pulled away. Leaving the problematic digit to hang in mid-air along with the rest of his arm, Jack then looked about distractedly. "Forget it, Teal'c," he replied, snagging a hem on Daniel's sleeve to wipe his finger. "It doesn't always work for me either."

"Um, excuse me?" Jackson interrupted, eyeing his shirt-turned-towel.

"What?"

"Ah, that." With these words, the archaeologist attempted to reclaim his sleeve by giving it a tug.

"Wait, I'm not finished yet," Jack insisted, a note of humor in his voice.

"The heck you're not," Daniel shot back. Dipping his finger tips into the water that had collected on the pan, he flicked several large drops into the Colonel's face.

This attack was rewarded by a soft grunt of laughter and a swift round of return 'fire'.

Struggling to see through the maze of moisture now spotting his glasses, Jackson offered a few amused snorts of his own and reached for more ammunition.

This move to 'reload' was not lost on Sam and she immediately got to her feet. Past experience dictated that if these two men - or rather boys - were to be stopped, it needed to be soon; else she could have a full-scale war on her hands. Stepping into the combat zone, therefore, she interposed herself between the playful combatants. "Sir, wait! Daniel don't -" Interrupted by a misguided spray of water droplets landing in an angular pattern from her shoulder to her waist, the Major came to a standstill. All thoughts of bringing peace to the situation suddenly flew from her mind and she found herself overcome by the desire to join in the scrimmage.

O'Neill spied this flare of immaturity the moment it struck his Second. Her eyes began to burn with mischief and her smile took on the most endearing, girlish smirk he had ever seen. How someone as smart, conscientious, tough, and no-nonsense as Samantha Carter could still manage to smile like that, he would never know.

"I believe you should seek a place of refuge Daniel Jackson," Teal'c cautioned in a most unexcited tone. "It appears Major Carter intends to exact revenge."

This observation flamed Sam's sisterly impulse for retribution and she lifted an elegant, threatening brow. "Indeed."

* * *

Eight minutes later the baking sheet had been depleted of its weaponry, Jack's caricatures abandoned and the seats of those keeping watch vacated. The utensil hieroglyph also lay in ruins, half of its main elements – the bowls – having been removed for use as water tossing vessels. Trails of winding droplets and occasional splats of moisture covered the floor - a testament to the Team's energetic, if somewhat inaccurate, battle.

This inaccuracy, of course, was to blame for Teal'c's current involvement in the event. Like Sam, he had unintentionally been caught in a stream of crossfire and was now determined to have his revenge. Apparently throwing water on a Jaffa was akin to drenching a cat and the guilty parties' harbored little hope for their survival. The moment of impact had been marked by the appearance of an incredulous line beneath his tattoo, but it had been the painfully slow way he'd risen from his chair that had inspired fear in his companions.

At the fight's inception, Jack and Sam had wordlessly opted to join forces; Carter out of unwillingness to purposefully soak her Commanding officer and O'Neill out healthy respect for his Second's skill as a marksman. Together they had soon managed to secure the sink area, effectively severing Daniel and Teal'c from their munitions supply. Dish towels and heads of cabbage were therefore added to the mix as the archaeologist and alien warrior banded together against the duo.

As the immovable officers collided with this new unstoppable alliance, shrieks of laughter, indiscernible shouts, thunks, splats, and whacks filled the air in rapid succession. The close quarters skirmish ended within minutes, O'Neill and Carter retreating to more strategic positions just inside the freezer door. Daniel then drew their fire, in an attempt to leave Teal'c free to prepare a weapon to end all weapons - a giant mixing bowl filled to the brim with water.

Thankfully, Jack saw this Teal'c-ian sized water tosser before it could be detonated and took command. "Hold it!"

SG-1 responded instantly, each member turning, rising or emerging from their various locations to lay eyes on the Colonel. Silence invaded the kitchen and they all froze where they stood. O'Neill - hands raised in a 'stop, listen' gesture - returned their stares, roving from face to face in an aggravatingly mysterious manner.

"What is it, Sir?"

Giving the Major a conspiratorial wink that only she could see, Jack tilted his head toward the long forgotten carton. "The ice cream."

"What . . . about it?" Daniel questioned, his forehead puckering at the random, uninformative statement.

"I think it's melted."

"Really?"

The Colonel rolled his eyes and picked up a stray cabbage leaf from the floor. "Not going there, Danny," he replied cheerfully. "But how 'bout we go check on it, huh?"

Though his reluctance was evident at first, Daniel eventually nodded and began to grin.

Sam also smiled - a bit more readily than her counterpart - and moved towards the door. As she reached the Colonel's side, she paused, offering him a grateful look.

When Jack saw her lips mouth the words 'thank you', he felt a soft pulse of pride course through him. His eyes lingered on her perfect features for a moment, but finally he managed a reply. "Always, Carter," he assured in a whisper. "Always." At this comment, the Major blushed what O'Neill determined had to be the cutest shade of pink he'd ever seen. Even as he was considering this point, she gave him one of her most blinding smiles and retreated through the doorway.

"Jack?"

The slow, prying tone of this question made the Colonel scowl. "What, Daniel?"

Grinning at this somewhat veiled challenge, Jackson leaned lazily against the freezer. "Nothing."

"Ah, well . . . good answer," O'Neill mumbled. Eager to change the subject - generously assuming of course that their current conversation even _had _a subject - he cast an inquiring eye toward his archaeologist. "So . . ." he began tentatively. "You still good?"

"Actually," Daniel murmured, releasing a long, contented sigh. "No . . . I think I'm a little better than 'good'."

A closed-lip smile and a nod of approval was the only answer the Colonel could give this assessment. He'd gotten sappy enough earlier to last them both a few years - no sense indulging in even more sentiment now. As he pondered the limited virtue of this logic, he began twirling the battle-worn cabbage leaf he had retrieved between thumb and forefinger. After several laps between the top of one finger and the bottom of the other, he was suddenly struck by what appeared to be an important notion. Holding the leaf at arms length, he scrutinized it seriously and then thrust the thing in Jackson's direction. A snort of laughter met this ridiculous gift - along with a disbelieving head shake - but at length the bit of greenery was accepted.

"Thanks, Jack."

"You're welcome," O'Neill beamed, sending a hand to muss the archaeologist's hair. "Now get movin' will ya', I'm starved."

"Yes, Jack."

With Daniel now well on his way, the Colonel sought his one remaining Team mate. "Teal'c?"

The Jaffa bowed at the sound of his name, but did not make a move to approach. After a few continued moments of hesitation, he then raised a questioning brow. "Does this mean our aquatics battle has come to an end, O'Neill?"

"Yeah, T," Jack answered with a smile. "I think so. Disappointed you didn't get to use your pan there?"

Teal'c's lips pulled slightly at this question and he considered his half-loaded 'weapon'. Affection then swept through the dark optics as his gaze shifted onto his friends . . . his comrades in arms . . . his family. Walking away from the sink, he passed each of them in turn and murmured a single word. "Indeed."

* * *

**THE END**

**Author's Note:** So there it is . . . late, but there. Hope you enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again for all of your great reviews, follows and favorites . . . they totally make my day!

**Note about the zat explanation: I only have an average intelligence and needless to say I have never personally examined a zat'nik'tel. My conclusions and explanations here came from a little research on Stargate wiki and some of my own conclusions from watching the show. I always thought handles and things that got zatted looked like they'd been burned or welded, but no one seemed to react to the zat blasts as if they were hot, so hence my explanation. Hope I didn't stretch things too far . . . of course this is SciFi, so . . .


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